


Silver Acropolis

by Werecakes



Series: Silver Acropolis [1]
Category: TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Donnie and Leo are worried sick, M/M, Mikey was tortured, Raph is pretty epic, Raph is trying his best, Survival, The Nightwatcher, This fic is old, Winter, big bro trying to save little bro, but complete!, purple dragons - Freeform, they don't know what to do with themselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werecakes/pseuds/Werecakes
Summary: When going out to get Pizza Mikey gets kidnapped by the Purple Dragons. Two days of not being heard from, Raph dawns on his Nightwatcher suit to find his little brother. Once found he now has to take care of him while keeping his identity secret until they can get help.





	1. Chapter 1

The night was beautiful; the moon high up in the sky, the only guiding light in the world of snow and shadow. Michelangelo leaned forward from the back seat, the top of the convertible was lost to the road long ago. His breath was white only a few shades duller than the pale color that was bathing the driver's metal suit. His hands were tied behind his back, and despite the fact that it looked like he was being kidnapped by his hero the Nightwatcher he felt little fear. He wouldn't have been in this car speeding down an empty highway away from New York City if it wasn't for the one behind the wheel. The cuts on his legs and arms would have been the least of his problems if the Nightwatcher had not started up his game of cops and robbers once more.

"Um, c-could we stop for a s-second?" the cold of the winter night causing his jaw to rattle and his lungs to freeze with the air creating a stammer in words.

The driver didn't say anything, only looked behind to see if they were still being pursued. No lights besides the crystalline glimmer of the horizon where the large city laid nestled in a sea of black sky. He slowed the stolen vehicle, pulling over to the side. The Nightwatcher let the engine run, as he twisted around to look at the passenger that was shivering from the cold.

"Th-these zip ties are really hurting, could you, um... get them off?"

A silent nod. 

The hunting knife strapped to his leg was quickly pulled out; the light on the blade making the turtle wince from memories of what he had to endure for the past two days. As if knowing what it was doing to him, the Nightwatcher lowered it so that it was hidden in the shadows. He pointed his finger down and twirled it giving a signal to turn around. Michelangelo nodded and did so, presenting his bound hands. 

Skin was swollen and torn around the area where he once had protective wrist guards, the zip ties providing just enough circulation so that the ninja did not have the opportunity of loosing his hands. He bit his lip when the sharp knife was carefully placed between plastic and flesh. There was a sharp pain to the sensitive area when the zip ties were cut away. Sea-green shoulders quivered at the sudden memory of a man standing in front of him, butterfly knife in hand. His body silhouetted but he could tell the sadistic human wore a grin on his face.

A hand on his shoulder brought his mind back to the present. He looked over to his companion who had already put away the knife, he was pushed a little as the hand left him to motion to the seat next to the driver. Carefully, in a timid nature, he crawled over the seat. Normally he would be bouncing off of the walls by the idea that the Nightwatcher had reemerged after his disappearance two years go and saved him from the Purple Dragons, but as it was he had little energy. It happened after having been held captive with out food or water for two days and bled out whenever some knife happy scum bag came around.

Once he was seated, the Nightwatcher revved the engine and continued back on the road. The fight that he had gotten into was more than difficult -there were more than anticipated. The enemy had been more organized, and a bit more tactical than previous battles. The suit was heavy, and even though it helped with some of the bullets it did not help with all of them. His arm was peppered with shot gun pellets, his side was hit but the dark fabric helped conceal the shallow wound. 

He had ended up grabbing the hostage that the gang had and took off -hot wiring one of the cars that was previously stolen by the thugs with fire power. After all of the ruckus he knew they had to lay low, just for a while. A few days minimum, a few weeks max. The difficult thing would be how to make sure Mikey didn't know who he really was. The Nightwatcher had a few enemies of his own that would do pretty much anything in order to get an upper hand, that included killing family and friends. It was a lucky thing that Casey never got hurt and knew how to keep his mouth shut. Mikey on the other hand, he liked to brag and boast, not a good thing.

"So... where are we going?" Orange bandana tails flapped in the air as Michelangelo held his hands over the small heater vents.

Silence.

“Okay… uh, thanks for saving me. I was really getting sick of getting stabbed.”

No reaction.

“Can you even talk?”

A nod.

Finally they were getting some where. “Then why don’t you say anything?”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; in fact Raphael wanted to ask his brother if he was okay and get ever detail of what those bastards had done to him so he could go back there and return the favor. But Mikey knew his voice well, even if he tried to disguise it. He had a feeling this was going to be the longest days of his life.

“It’s a good thing the moon’s out right? I mean, with the headlights busted out and all.”

Another nod.

“It’s still kind of hard to see though.”

The breaks were suddenly slammed on, jerking the turtle forward as the crisp air was filled with the stench of burnt rubber. He screamed as the tires spun and swerved over the patch of black ice. There was a loud popping sounds from one blowing out when it hit a patch of gravel and barbed wire fencing. Finally the car stopped. The ninja had wide eyes -white knuckled grip on the dash board.

The stirring wheel was hit hard in frustration before the Nightwatcher opened his door and got out. Reaching over he grabbed a hold of Mikey's elbow, careful of the cuts that littered his arm. Pulling him out, he was set to start walking when he noticed how the turtle hugged himself, the sound of his teeth chattering louder than the clicking sound of the now dead engine. Turning around, he pulled out his knife -slitting the upholstery off of the front, bench-style, seat. He cut out two more, pieces and two thin strips. Dusting off the padding that came with the material, he turned to the one that was worse-for-wear. He wrapped the largest piece around Michelangelo's shoulders, then knelt down. The two smaller bits he slipped under green feet and wrapped around the ankles using the thin strips to tie down the make shift shoes. Once he was done he motioned for Mikey to follow him.


	2. Chapter 2

The stars were bright that night, whispering down to the earth a language long forgotten in the days of lore. Their twinkling light like laughter asking for those who have been forgotten to come out and play in a world where ice was not cold and snow was sweet as sugar drops.

Michelangelo was careful in his steps, trying not to look up to the sky that beckoned for him to drown within. Everything to him was cold to the point of being warm, as his breath puffed in clouds that were not as white as before. It was getting harder to keep open his eyes as he placed his bagged feet into the pressed holes of the Nightwatcher's path.

He had tried to talk to him earlier, ask where they were headed. He tried what seemed like a life time to strike up a conversation only to be ignored. There was the occasional glance back at him to make sure he was still following, nothing more. So now all he had to listen to was the dead wind and the silent language of the stars that asked him to look up so that he would never have to blink again. So that they could steal away the white of his breath and bring him to that land of warm ice and sugar drop snow.

There was a loud crunch, the sound loud in the dead night of lost souls. He wondered where it had come from when he moved, realizing he had fallen to his knees. Funny, he didn't remember stumbling, nor falling. How did he end up like that?

He tried to push himself up, the cuts on his body already numb as snow and ice bit into him threatening to make more.

Hot gloved hands reached down, tucking under his arms and picking him up. One hand left his side to rest on his shoulder as he tried to steady himself on his feet. Nightwatcher's head moving as to indicate worry for his condition. He tried to smile, to joke it off but all that came from his mouth was a rattled cough, his lungs trying to breath in the warmth that barely radiated from his metal clad companion. The other hand that was on his side moved and shifted to hold him between chest and belly as he doubled over. A comforting pat on the shell and he a rub to his abdomen that helped warm him just enough for him to straighten himself back into standing.

“I'm okay.”

The gloved hands left him, the masked face turning away. Metal and leather shifted as Nightwatcher bent down and knelt upon one knee, hands facing back as he presented himself in a silence.

“I'm okay, really. I don't need a piggy-back-” he didn't have enough time to reply when his wrist was grabbed and he was forcefully pulled down upon the back of the Nightwatcher.

Those burning hands grabbed a hold of the back of his knees, as his arms clutched his makeshift blanket around his hero's neck trapping as much heat as possible from the one below him. His eyes drew heavy from the comforting warmth his mind wondering off to thoughts of warm beds, soft pillows and warm cups of hot chocolate. 

His mind went to Leo and how he would hover over the tea kettle waiting for the water to heat to just the right temperature before taking it off the burner. Donnie would be ready with cocoa powder already in individual cups. Leo would pour the hot water as he and Donatello held idol conversation about what seemed to be nothing at all. He would be sitting at the table with Raph, both not saying anything, not really doing anything. But Raph would have a bag of marshmallows. The big fat kind that swelled over the edge of the cup when left alone. His older brother would sneak him a few to munch on while the other two were not looking.

Orange was suddenly jerked, blue eyes drowsily opening up. When had he fallen asleep? How long had he been dreaming of memories?

A slow glance around and he could tell it was for a while. They were now in a forest, evergreen trees reaching out their needles to bush against his face in such a soft way that it felt like an encouraging caress. The pines and furs asking for him to fight for consciousness, telling him not to dream until his body was warm so that he knew he would wake the next time he closed his eyes.

He nodded, either to them or himself, he was not sure. All he knew was that he needed to stay awake, keep the stars from whispering and the snow from beckoning.

“I know,” he tried to clear the gravel like sound in his voice, but when he spoke again he found that his throat was too frozen to work normally. “I know, you don't care. But I'm just gonna talk, okay?”

There was a nod from his companion. He rested the side of his beak against the back of the Nightwatcher's neck so that he would not have to strain for volume. The pace of the hero faster than when he had first began to sleep, he didn't notice. All he could tell were the shadows of the trees in the thick forest. They were not near Casey's Grandmother's house. The woods there were filled with deciduous plants.

The holds on his knees squeezed, bringing him back from his wondering thoughts. That's right, he had to stay focused, because the last time he let his mind go, he fell asleep. Sleep... enough though inviting at the time, it was not something he needed to indulge in at the moment.

That's right, he needed to keep himself awake, “Um... so, I bet you're wondering how I got there,” His body was so cold he was beyond stuttering now, “At that place where the Purple Dragons were.”

Mikey tried to take a deep breath, the cold air not so cold any more, but his lungs still laid a protest through a heaving cough. His eyes felt heavy, and stung slightly through every blink as he tried to think of words.

“I... I was heading out over to pick up some pizza. Our friend, April, she was going to let me order them at her place.” He frowned a little, “I never got to her apartment... she's probably worried.”

He was bounced once more as he was adjusted on the back that was carrying him.

“I remember... I remember that Leo wanted chicken and tomatoes... Donnie... he wanted something called hummus and lots of veggies... Raph,” it was so hard to stay awake. “Raphie, wanted... everything except for anchovies. Master Splinter wanted Chinese...” 

He tightened his hold around the Nightwatcher, tucking his head down a little. This time his body shivered, but not from the cold. He was scared, scared of closing his eyes and not being able to open them. He wanted to see his family again. He wanted to be picked on by his older brothers, and lectured by his father. But he might not... no, he was going to. He was just a little frightened right now that's all. Nothing more, he could get past this.

All he had to do was keep his eyes open.

He blinked once, trying to find energy to continue to talk.

He blinked twice, trying to remember why he was going out to order out for dinner in the first place.

A third time and he was remembering the faces of his family.

He did not blink a fourth...


	3. Chapter 3

He was running now, his numb legs seemingly knowing ever bush, every hidden rock or fallen tree trunk hidden in the fine layer of snow. Flurries of white kicked up in the panicked stretches of his legs. They were so close, so close to that little shake that he knew about. There, he knew there was dry wood; he could build a fire and warm him up.

For the first time that night he cried out a curse when the snow-packed tread of his boots slipped on a patch of frozen pond. Trying to keep himself from falling he slid -knees buckling as he shifted Michelangelo's unconscious body from his back to his arms. His warm breath fogged up the edges of his visor and he held his brother like a slumbering child. The straining squeaks of the ice cracking causing his heart to hammer.

The pond, he had forgotten the pond. The small body of water was wide and deep, filled with rocks and vegetation. He remembered finding snapping turtles there one day when he was taking a dip in the cool water during a hot summer day. But taking a dip now would not be of any sort of beneficiary action he wanted to take at the moment, in fact he really would have hoped he would have remembered that the pond was there so that he could have avoided it completely.

“Okay, Raphie-boy,” he grumbled to no one in particular as he held onto his sibling. “You managed to land yourself nearly half way into the pond with out even noticin' you were runnin' on ice, your brother is freezin' to death not to mention he was blue in the lips from blood loss when ya first got 'im back. And you just happened to stop here... why did you do that asshole?” He slowly scanned the area, this wasn't good, it was getting colder and his visor was almost completely fogged up. He couldn't tell which way was closest to stable land. “Because you're a freakin' idiot,” he growled out his own answer. “Now what?” He growled deeper, “Take off the helmet stupid.”

Carefully he shifted to free one hand, there was a cry of frozen water as it cracked and broke under his leg. He barely had enough time to leg out a startled scream before his limb was submerged in the water that was colder than snow. The shock causing all the muscles in his leg to cramp at once, the chill clamping his throat closed preventing more than a snarl.

He tried to pull up, Michelangelo still in his arms, he used his elbows as leverage to try and pull. There was a groan of ice threatening to give way if he tired to put any more pressure down than his brother's sprawled out weight. Raphael squeezed his eyes closed for a second, trying to think past the freeze that was eating away at a part of his body.

Gently, slowly, he moved his hands away from his brother. With as much care, he took off his helmet and let it clatter to the side. Now he could see, that was good. To the right was more pond, left the same, straight- same. Looking over his shoulder he saw that the shore line was only six feet away. 

This was going to be difficult.

Taking another calming breath he moved, grabbing Michelangelo by the belt, he started to drag his brother around the hole that allowed water to lap up on his hip. The leather of the belt was catching on the smooth surface of the ice making it hard to move the turtle. Raphael, swallowed the cold that begged to be coughed out of his lungs. He moved a little, his shaking fingers working on the knot trying to bring it undone.

“It'll be okay bro,” he tried to calm his shivering chin. “You'll be okay.”

As he softly spoke there was another groan of ice, this time it broke before he could move. His other leg joining the first. A cry ripped from his throat when a jagged piece of ice jutted into the flaring hot wound in his side. White filled his vision from the pain of nearly being completely frozen as he was viciously stabbed. The murky water, churning from being disturbed in its winter long rest. The winter light of the stars catching the color contrast of red mixing with the black of the water.

Raphael's body shook more from the pain than the chill that tainted his breath. It was getting hard to move, but he couldn't give in. Mikey... Mikey had to be safe.

His fingers, he couldn't feel them, as he continued on the knot. When it finally gave he took a deep breath and placed his hands on his brother's side. Gathering his strength, he pushed, the sound of shell sliding across ice was like music. He watched as the large turtle hit a bin of snow signaling the water's edge. A grin crossed his lips, he didn't know why it felt like he had just defied something as big as destiny but he wasn't going to stop and think about it. Glancing around, he found that he was pretty much stranded. He would have to pull himself up onto the ice.

Shaking, he placed his palms on the edge of the ice. Flat, fingers splayed, he tested it with a little weight, cramped muscles quivering.

“S-s-so far s-so g-good,” he spoke to himself.

A little more weight and he was starting to pull himself out. The piece of ice cutting into his side breaking free to fall into the water.

Careful, careful now. Just a little farther, then you lay flat on your belly and scoot over. His thoughts encouraged him as he eased himself on to the fragile platform of winter glass.

Curling his knees, he pressed his belly down on the ice. Slowly he stretched out his arms once more. The dire cold causing the cloth and slick leather to begin to stick to the smooth surface of the pond. Using this to his advantage, he pulled. The metal plates of his armored costume scrapped noisily, bumping and grinding across every in perfection, protesting on the slow movements he was taking.

He gave a small laugh as he inched along. He was doing it, he was getting closer to Michelangelo's unconscious form and soon he would be able to get up to his feet and make it those last few yards to the hunter's shack that was old and had been abandoned for years before he had discovered it one night when needing some air.

Dark eyes saw his brother move, shifting in his sleep. Relief flooded his heart, knowing it wasn't as bad as his mind was screaming out it to be. He raised his head, weight moving to one hand, he was going to call out to his brother, but the name was cut short as water rushed up into his vision.

The cold stabbed into his chest pushing out air as he twisted in the gloom of shadows. Dead plants reaching up like fingers scrapped against the metal that covered his shins. He paddled his arms, but something had wedged into the space between his shin guard and the plate that covered the top of this left boot. Raphael kicked only to feel the wooden thud of thick tree roots. Curling up, he moved his fingers over the root, twisting and pulling not finding a way for it to come out.

Large silver bubbles of air pushed out of his throat, a desperate gaze turning up to the last of his breath that burbled away from him. He kicked once more, only entangling his leg further. This wasn't happening! He needed to get out, he needed to get Mikey to a warm fire and warm him up. He needed... 

It was getting so hard to keep from breathing in the water. A whimper echoed around him as he reached to where he knew his brother was. 

He needed to help...

Something above slipped, tumbling into the water in a burst of bubbles. A haunting light rotating down calling out to his attention. Snapping back his hands, scrambling, he tried to get it to come towards him. Barely, just barely, the tip of his finger brushed against the metal sending the object into a rough spiral. It was enough though, he was able to grasp one of the lights fixed to the side of the helmet and pull it to him. Turning his beak up he brought the helmet down, the tiny breath of air held in the crown gulped in greedily.

Holding his breath once more, he shifted the helmet properly on to his head and turned the lights to the roots that twined in his boot. Now being able to see, he pulled and jerked himself free, paddling up to the surface where he tossed his helmet up off of his head and gasped. His lungs freezing but happy with the ample supply that was craved.

His helmet slid across the ice, coming to a stop against Michelangelo's hand where the turtle lie asleep. Not caring to take it slow any more, the freezing ninja pulled at the ice breaking his way a path until he could feel the steep incline of land were he could push and get himself out.

Once out, he shivered a deep tremble, his jaw shaking so violently his teeth clattered loudly. Bending over, he grabbed his helmet, water spilling out as he kissed the metal object. “N-nnever l-leaving y-ou behind e-ever ag-gain,” he shoved the helmet back on and picked up his brother.

He could feel the heat from Mikey, his temperature now above Raphael's. With a frozen body, and water logged suit, the Nightwatcher continued on.


	4. Chapter 4

The door creaked open, the Nightwatcher tumbling in from the harsh weather outside. The metal on his back thudded upon the wood. A hiss of pain from the sudden jolt to his frozen bones before he rolled to his side, arms wrapped around his brother. The crackle of building frost on his wet costume sounded like someone snapping bubble-wrap to his ears as he moved to take off his helmet. The helmet thumped and rolled to its crown as Raphael tried to breathe.

First off, he needed to take off his gloves so that he could not get any wood wet. Moving his head, he looked -upside down- towards the fire place made out of old and abused bricks. It was only a few feet away, the hut barely the size of his room back home. If he could get a fire going then the place would be nice and warm in no time.

“Okay Mikey,” he tried to clear his throat after hearing the gasping whisper that his voice had become. It didn't help much, “Let's get you warmed up.”

Forcing himself up, he grabbed his brother and moved him away from the door and in front of the fireplace. He found the chair in the corner and shoved it against the door, wedging the back of it under the make shift knob of carved wood in order to keep it shut.

So far so good.

Taking off his gloves he let them drop to the floor with a wet slop as he crossed the room to a stack of quartered-wood and kindling. He grabbed what he needed, and kneeling next to Michelangelo's shoulders, he stacked everything as well as his shaking hands would allow.

Now he needed something to light it with.

Padding his hands over the hidden pockets over his sides he pulled out a wet book of matches. He tossed it to the side, searching again, nothing. Wait, that's right, he kept a lighter here. Getting up he looked around the dark room, the lights in his helmet useless since they ran out just at the door. He ran his fingers over the familiar edges of a small shelf in the corner, searching every compartment for what he remembered leaving there in the summer months. Dust clotted on his callouses as he made his search thorough.

When he came up with nothing the last place he knew to look was a small trunk that he had scavenged and used as storage for non-perishable foods. He gave a hushed shout of joy, as his fingers wrapped around the small object that was lying on the top. Quickly, he crossed the room once more, cupping his hand around the top of the lighter as he flicked the flint. Sparks strobed against his skin.

“Come on, come on.” He tried it several more times, growling at it before a tiny flicker peeked up at him. He smiled to life giving flame and slowly moved forward, giving it a piece of wood to feast upon. Dark eyes watched it closely, as a decent blaze took hold bathing the hut in a caramel hue.

Satisfied with the fire, the ninja placed his fingers against his brother's pulse. Closing his eyes he concentrated on finding the light fluttering beat that would tell him that he was not too late. He allowed his finger tips to listen to the tiny drumming of a pumping heart for several minutes before letting out a sigh of relief. When Mikey woke up he would have one hell of case of the sniffles but he'd be alive.

Now Raph on the other hand, if he didn't get out of his wet clothes, then his own chances of survival would plummet.

Moving away from his brother, he sat down, hands working on the boots that clung desperately to well toned skin. He managed to kick off one boot, work off the other and place the open tops facing the fire in order to dry out. Standing up, he stumbled, his head getting foggy from the allure of falling asleep next to the warm fire. He fumbled for the zipper, gripping it he tugged it down as far as it would go.

Raph hissed as he bent peeling off the leather and cloth that left a burning sensation as if he was ripping off tape. With one arm free, he carefully worked on the other, biting his lip as he took it extra slow by the wound in his side. A wave of dizziness pushed into his body as he leaned over, taking the suit the rest of the way off, which he slopped next to his boots.

Looking down at the hideous gash in his side he breathed deep, pressing his fingers around the hole that was an ugly dark color. Feeling around, he could tell the bullet he got was still inside but close to the surface, most likely pushed up from when the shard of ice decided to make a home in his flesh.

Gazing at the injury, he remembered he needed to dress the cuts on Michelangelo and he was suddenly glad that Donatello had insisted that no matter where they went they took a first aid kit with them. Once more crossing the room, he tripped over his feet, catching himself with a hand on the wall. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the light headed dizzy feeling. He took a moment, squeezing his eyes shut counting from twenty backwards, concentrating on the numbers. When he reached zero, he moved once more, glad that at least a little of it was gone.

Now able to see, he found the small plastic box that held everything from antiseptic wipes to gauze and tape. With it was a ratty old blanket that he brought with him over to Michelangelo's side. He placed them down when a thought struck him. Mikey would warm up faster if he had something warm to drink, and he did have a pot and some hot chocolate packets in the trunk.

Quickly digging out what he was looking for, he went to the door, moved the chair and went back outside. He grabbed the white and fluffy snow off of the surface until the pot was packed full. Going back inside, he shut the door and moved the chair back into place. Turning around he found Michelangelo on his side, coughing. Hurrying over, he found that the youth was still asleep.

Rubbing his little brother's shell, Raphael waited for the coughing to stop before shifting wood with the bottom of the pot and settling it upon the fire. With the water now heating, he grabbed the first aid kit. Popping off the top he dug around until he found the wipes, ointment, gauze and tape.

Setting to work he started to talk to himself once more, a habit he had developed when he felt either useless or extremely nervous; both he did not feel often.

“Real smart, Tough Guy. Grabbin' Mikey with out tellin' the others that you were headin' out, then instead of goin' home you decide it would be easier to come here. Why? Because you wanted alone time with him? Funny, stupid, very funny. Face up,” he tossed a wipe to the side and started to administer ointment and bandages. “You panicked and didn't know what the shell you were doin'... and now you're talkin' to yourself because your crazy. Talkin' about crazy, why the shell don't you tell Mikey who you are? Who is he gonna tell?” He sighed, “Doesn't matter, Leo knows and so does Casey but they know how to keep their mouth shut and if Mikey ended up telling Angel or April... well girls talk and dumb things happen. So no tellin' Mike.” He paused frowning, “Why am I lecturin' myself? I sound like Leo.”

Once he was done with the bandages he pulled the pot off of the fire using one of his wet gloves. He had taken it off so that it was a little more than just warm, but it wasn't hot enough to scorch the tender skin in the mouth. It sloshed when he was pouring the water into a cup. Finding cocoa packets and a spoon he mixed it all together.

Putting his hand on his brother's chest he shook, “Mikey... Mike wake up.”

The other groaned rolling over not wanting to be disturbed.

“Michelangelo, wake up, I've got hot chocolate.”

Blue eyes groggily opened up, “Really?”

God his voice sounded awful.

“Yeah, come on,” he moved, so that he was supporting his brother's weight against his chest. He placed his legs on either side of the younger turtle so that he couldn't see the Nightwatcher outfit behind Raph, nor the bullet wound in his side. He made sure that he was steady enough to help Michelangelo drink the warm liquid. “There ya go, bro. Just sip it.”

“I was having a bad dream Raphie,” Michelangelo was having a hard time keeping the cup up, it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

“Oh? What about?” The orange loving ninja must have been really out of it if he was not noticing that he was some place other than home.

“Purple Dragons,” blue eyes were drifting shut once more.

“No, no come on, stay awake. You have to finish your cocoa.”

“Donnie put something in it?”

“Uh, yeah, medicine so you'll get better,” he lied.

Michelangelo made a disgusted face but let Raphael guide his hand with the cup back up to his lips so he could drink more.

“Tell me about your dream,” Raph pulled at his brother sitting him up a little more. “It had Purple Dragons in it, right?”

“Yeah,” Michelangelo rested his head against his brother's plastron. “They... were hurting me with knives.”

The older of the two choked for a moment, swallowing down the shame of allowing his little brother to be kidnapped in the first place. It took him a moment before finding the right words to say, “So... what happened?”

“The Nightwatcher came and saved me.”

“That doesn't sound too bad.”

Mikey nodded, before he was forced to drink the last of his cocoa. His eyes peering up to his brother's stoic facial structure as he swallowed. Even if it was a dream he didn't like the thought of being captured and tortured. He had been scared, very scared.

“Raphie?”

“Hmm?” Raphael looked down at him, eyes reflecting the soft fire light.

“You... remember when we were little and I would have nightmares?”

“Yeah, you kicked me off the bed a lot.”

“No, I mean, do you remember what you used to do to calm me down?”

“Give you milk?”

“No.”

Raphael furrowed his brows in thought, it's been so many years since he had to calm Michelangelo down from one of his nightmares. There had been a lot of things he would do, milk, stay up and talk with him, shove him over to Donnie or Leo so that he could get some sleep... wait, didn't he...

His cheeks colored with a blush, “Um... you mean the kisses.”

“Can... Can I get kisses?”

The red banded turtle scratched at the wet cloth around his temple, this was awkward. “Um... I... guess.”

He leaned down, giving his brother a kiss to the cheek, whispering out a warning for the monsters in dreams to watch out and leave his little brother alone. Michelangelo purred contently as he told his sibling, “again,” and was delighted to be treated the same way to the other cheek. “Again,” he breathed, his tired body starting to hum with life when Raphael's hands slid to hold Mikey by his forearms. He twisted in his brother's hold, stealing a kiss, leaning forward so Raph's lips brushed against his when he repeated himself once more to ward away nightmares.

When he was done, he remained still, gaze locked with Michelangelo's their breath mingling in the warm fire light. With out thinking, he moved forward, lips sealing. His hands pulled Mikey's arms in a folded position, using it as leverage to bring their bodies together closer. The younger's mouth opened up moaning a plea to deepen the kiss. He was rewarded when a tongue slithered into the warm cavern of flesh, smoothly running over teeth as he was explored. Returning the favor brought a delicious jolt of fire to his body that pooled in his stomach.

Moving his arms, he slipped them out from under hands and placed his own on top of Raph's. He pressed his brother's palms against him, guiding them to run up and touch his chest causing him to pull away from the kiss with a soft gasp when thumbs glided over the skin that lined his plastron.

“Mike, are you-”

“Touch me more Raph,” he leaned forward to nip at chin and jaw. “Please, god please.”

“But-”

The usually happy turtle nuzzled his beak under his brother's chin, a whimper on his lips. “Please,” he whispered, his voice shaking along with a tremble in his body. “It was- so real. I was scared I'd never see you again.”

“But it was all a dream,” he hated lying.

Michelangelo shook his head, “I don't care.” He guided his brother's hands down his chest, to feel the smooth bend of his lower plastron as he sat with his knees curled up, “It was too scary.”

Raph battled with himself. His instincts telling him to go with it, to take full advantage to the situation. His heart telling him he needed to reassure himself that his baby brother was safe and sound now, but his mind was screaming that Mikey wasn't in his right mind. That this was all wrong.

He grunted when his brother's shell pressed against the angry wound in his side reminding him that he was in no condition to do what his instincts were telling him. The lick to his neck seemed to chase away most thought process as he found his hands moving on their own accord up onto skin, circling down to the softer skin that laid on the inside of his thighs. The flesh was still cold to his warming palms.

Finally deciding he would do this only to warm Michelangelo up, he dipped his head down; teeth gliding over skin on the shoulder in front of him. He heard the hitch of breath as he nibbled and kissed his way onto the neck that exposed itself.

One of Mikey's arms went back over his shoulder, gripping onto Raphael's carapace as he gasped out, “Raphie,” when his brother's hands brushed against the aroused sex that started to drop down from its hiding place.

He let out a yelp when he was gripped and stroked to full hardness, his brother's legs tucking under his. His heart began to hammer as Raphael's knees pulled up and away, forcing his legs apart to have better access to the hardened manhood. A mewl of delight erected from his chest mingled with a churr, the side of his mouth kissed lovingly.

Bucking up, he felt his world light on fire with pleasure. He had never been touched like this before. Sure he had pleased himself from time to time, but it never felt this good. Then he was squeezed, a thumb brushing over the head of his cock causing him to scream.

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” Raphael stroked loving circles with his free hand over his brother's belly as he continued to pump. “I got you.”

“Raphie,” the sea-green turtle reached back his other hand to grab onto carapace. Using his bother as leverage to buck into every jerk he received, “More, god,” he leaned his head back, vision starting to crackle from the pleasure. He was panting so badly, it was like he couldn't get enough air. “H-harder.”

Obeying, the eldest of the two squeezed down harder as he picked up his pace, his teeth nibbling on neck, taking a moment to suckle at an adam's apple.

Then, finally, his brother came a strangled version of Raphael's name screamed out as he road his orgasm out.

Raph, relaxed his legs, shifting so that he held his panting brother close. He didn't want to look at Mikey, his heart heavy with what he had just done. Sure he had reassured himself that Mikey was going to be okay, that he was warm enough now, but now he felt like he had taken advantage of the young one. He was supposed to be a protector, not...

“Raph?”

He looked over, mouth caught up in a deep kiss. The young turtle twisted in his grip so that their chests were pressed together. They wared for dominance, letting the minutes tick away with each slide of their tongues.

Pulling away, Michelangelo tiredly settled down against his brother, “Thank you.”

Raphael frowned as his brother started to fall asleep. He didn't know what to say to that, just saying “any time” felt so wrong, and telling him “I love you” felt out of place with his own feelings. So all he did was squeeze him tight, ignoring the flaring pain in his side as he placed a kiss to his brother's forehead. And before he knew it, Michelangelo was asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

The small pot was boiling over the stoked fire, red cloth bubbling in the heated liquid. Raphael held his sai over the flames, letting the metal heat until it was warm enough to blister skin. His dark gaze shifted over to his little brother, wrapped in a blanket sleeping so soundly except for the occasional cough. His health was depleting, plummeting down as he rested. The first aid kit was used up, there were no more fresh bandages, nor disinfectant. There was just enough ointment for one more treatment that he was saving for his sibling. But if Mikey didn't get something nutritious to eat then the likely hood of getting better was practically zero and all he really had was a box of crackers and a few cans of vegetables. Turning back to the fire he had one thought that was constant; he would have to go hunting.

Before that, he would have to remove the bullet.

Gripping the handle of his sai, he swallowed hard. It took courage to fight, it took bravery to place one's self into the path of danger for another, but to cause harm to yourself was another thing. The natural instinct to keep harm from yourself had to be over-ridden.

Placing two fingers around the wound he leaned so his injured side was stretched and exposed, the swollen flesh screaming in pain as he moved his fingers to the side pulling the skin taut. Taking a few quick breaths he steeled his nerves. He could feel the bullet, only a few inches in, shifting with every inhale he took.

“Now or never,” he mumbled poking the tip of his sai into the wound.

A growling grunt reverberated in his throat as he moved the blade around trying to catch the bullet like a needle fishing out a sliver. Pushing in a little harder, driving the metal in deeper, he felt the cause of his pain clink against the sai. He started to pry and wiggle, worming out the chunk of weaponry. Red liquid ran down, pooling around his fingers; slithering in rivets down the crease of his digits and palm, spilling down his side to part and leak around his thigh to dribble onto the floor.

Raphael's body shook as the bullet finally popped out of his skin, bouncing across the floor encased in a pocket of his own blood. He pressed his palm firmly against the wound, his sai clattering down to the floor as he used that hand to support himself. His breathing was shaky, his body trembling from the trauma it just had to endure.

After a few moments, he took his sai up once more, using the long part of the prong to fish out his mask that he was boiling in the water over the fire. He let the hot water drip for a second before slopping it on to the floor, where he carefully folded the material. Raph, took one more steadying breath before lifting up his hand over his wound and replacing it with the scolding hot bandanna. He shoved his left wrist into his hand, biting down hard to muffle the scream as he pressed the hot fabric into his injury. His eyes squeezed tightly shut as he let the pain sweep over him causing his eyes to water.

He waited for a while, keeping the pressure in order to stop the bleeding he had induced. Once satisfied, he let his mouth un-clamp, releasing the leather wrist band that now bore the marks of his teeth. Swallowing a few times, Raphael suppressed the urge to vomit- brought on from pain. It didn't make sense, it shouldn't have hurt so badly.

Michelangelo rolled over in his sleep, a coughing fit convulsing his body until a small bit of liquid was spat out onto the floor.

Raph moved his belt, tying it down tightly up high where his bandanna lay against his skin in order to hold it into place. He quickly dressed himself in his Nightwatcher outfit, the various weapons hidden away would be useful for trapping winter game. He could think about his own injuries later, right now Mikey needed something to eat to fight off the illness that was trying to claim its hold over him.

Zipping up the front of his costume he paused, looking down at his brother. His gaze softening. Reaching down he ran his palm over Michelangelo's head, soothing away the scrunched up wrinkles on the youth's nose that signaled his discomfort. Raphael froze when Mikey leaned into his touch. His memories flashing back to last night. The way his brother spoke his name, how he begged to be touched. 

He moved his hand away. He wasn't sure what to think about that. Did Michelangelo just need reassurance that he was safe? Would he have done the same thing to Leo or Donnie if they had been there instead of him?

Pressing his lips together he wondered why that bothered him. It wasn't like he had enjoyed taking advantage of Mikey, or like he had the right to. If Mikey wanted someone else then it was his right... right?

“Raphie.” 

He shook his head trying to clear his mind of his brother's voice gasping out his name. Straightening out to stand took a moment to watch over his sibling. He had to stop thinking about it. He needed to find a way to contact home, to let everyone know that they were alright. He would have to ask them to come and pick them up but... that was if he could contact them.

Putting on his helmet, he turned, moving the chair out of the way of the door. Going outside, he fixed the door shut so that potential wind could not blow it open and make his brother any more ill than he already was. No then, he needed to find tracks in the snow or there would be no food to bring back.

\-------------------------

When Michelangelo woke, his whole body hurt. Every cut, every bruise, hissed at him for making any sort of movement at all. His stomach churned as he sniffed the air the smell of blood faint but still pungent as it mixed with steam that burbled up from the pot over the fire. Getting his hands underneath him, he looked up, scanning the tiny hut. His heart sunk as he took in everything; he was alone, last night had only been a dream... A dream of being safe with his brother, of... He felt his beak heat up with a blush. If it had been a dream it was one that was very vivid. It made his heart swell with an emotion that he had been denying himself for quiet a while. Maybe... Maybe when he got home then he could talk to Donnie about these urges of his and get them to stop. Because Raph wouldn't want to do anything like that with him.

He wouldn't want to kiss him, or hold him tight. He certainly wouldn't want to touch him in secret areas that yearned for the calloused touch of the sai wielder.

Mikey sighed and to push himself up, but his shoulder gave way causing him to fall back onto the floor were his forearm smeared in something as another coughing fit enveloped his lungs. A glop of phlegm came loose, flopping disgustingly onto the floor in front of him. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he tried to get up once more. This time he managed.

Happy to be standing, yet not happy due to the pain in his limbs, he rubbed his runny nose over the back of his arm by reflex. Something wet, smeared across his beak, making the bandages wrapped around his forearm to dampen. Frowning, blue eyes took a look down, finding a very angry red colored stain practically gazing back. Unwrapping, his bandage he found that his wound was not bleeding, in fact it was looking rather nice considering how deep it was. Looking around he found a small puddle on the floor, parts of it already drying.

The Nightwatcher did get injured in the fight last night. Maybe... Then he saw the empty first aid kit, discarded to the corner of the hut. He gave a small sigh of relief. Nightwatcher had just forgotten to clean up after taking care of his own wounds. There was no way his hero would be dumb enough not to have enough first aid supplies to only take care of one person.

Confident that was what happened, Mikey took a look around trying to find something clean up the mess of his and his hero's. When he didn't find anything he took off his bandanna and dunked it into the water that was rolling with in the pot. He scrubbed away the blood and phlegm. Not wanting to contaminate the pot, he took the pot outside with him and dangled his bandanna with one hand and poured water over it slowly with the other until all of the filth was washed away.

Packing the pot with fresh snow, he headed back inside, tossing his bandanna over the back of the single chair. He found the wood and put on a new log before placing the pot back over the flames. He was starving but he was more thirty than anything. If he could just heat the water enough so that he could get a decent drink of water he would be happy to just go right back to sleep.

Sitting down, he grabbed the ratty old blanket he had been under when he woke up and wrapped it around his shoulders. There was something familiar about it. He wasn't sure if it was the texture of the material or the sent that made him feel like he was back at home, but either way, soon as he was able to drink of of the melted snow, he was back to sleep dreaming of Raphael's embrace.


	6. Chapter 6

The snow was thick, the fat flakes drifting in a deafening silence that could only be described as winter's voice. The buck's lips fiddled along the smooth bark of the deciduous tree trying to find a decent hold for its teeth. Not much food was left until the snow could melt under the spring rains and even though bitter the bark was one of the last food sources until it could find a patch of grass untouched under the branches of the wooden giants that created the forest.

Raphael crouched, his breathing controlled and quiet as he slowly moved forward. Stretching out his hands to pull himself into a controlled crawl. Letting the silver color of the metal that coated him blend into the soft rolls of snow. This male deer was a decent size, it would feed them for some time and if he did this right then when it was time to come home he could provide the whole family with a meal.

Tall ears perked, twitching as the buck pulled away from the tree trunk with a strip of bark dangling from its mouth. Black eyes were staring straight at Raphael, as he remained perfectly still waiting for the animal to make a move. He couldn't mess this up. He had already been out in the elements for over three hours and Mikey needed nourishment.

The buck let its brown and white ears curve around trying to pick up noises of possible threats as it started to eat at the bark in its mouth. Satisfied that there was nothing before him, the creature turned back to the tree, lips fingering once more to find more bark to peel away.

With predatory grace Raphael sprung forward, a burst of snow clouding around him. The deer scrambling into a run. It screamed as hot pain shot through the shoulder, the metal teeth of the ninja's sai twisting in. He gripped at the handle, as the deer bucked and flailed trying to shake him off. He cursed as sharp horns twisted and jabbed at him in defense. He didn't want to do this, but he had to.

Tangling his other sai in the horns he used it as leverage, yanking the other out of tender flesh. The buck tossed him forward in an attempt to get him in front so that he could use his full power on the predator that was trying to take his life. This was what Raphael wanted though, for a brief moment the next was exposed and he plunged his sai in severing an artery. With in seconds the large beast was stumbling, unable to hold the turtle tangled in its horns.

Legs buckled, the body tumbling to the ground in a bed of red snow.

Raphael put his hand to the face of the buck as he sadly spoke, “I'm sorry.” It was the buck or his brother. Sure he has killed before, humans were different from animals. Animals held an essence of innocence and he never felt anything remotely positive from having to snuff out the flame of something innocent.

He waited until it was fully dead, and even a few minutes afterwards giving the animal a respected moment of silence before taking hold of the back legs and began the long trek back to the small hut where Michelangelo would be waiting for his return.

 

The door had opened, he could feel the waft of cold air that was cut off as it was shut out from the hut. He sat up, blanket falling from his shoulder to slide down his body as he looked to see who it was. Blue eyes blinked as Raphael dusted off snow.

“Raph?”

“Hey,” the older turtle looked down at him softly pausing in mid-brush of his hand to his shoulder. “How you feelin'?”

Mikey grunted, a little when he moved his arm. “Sore.”

His brother came to his side, kneeling down gently. A chilled hand coming in contact to his bandaged covered skin. Dark eyes took everything in, fingers gingerly poking around testing what hurt and what did not, “Does this hurt?”

Michelangelo winced, “A little.”

He watched his brother's expression battle with itself before Raph's strong beak pressed a feather light kiss over the injured area. Mikey felt his face heat up with a blush.

“Where else does it hurt?”

“Um...” He hesitated for a moment before pointing to a patch on his shoulder. His breath hitched when it too was given such a delicious kiss. When Raphael pulled away he pointed to his other shoulder, “Here.”

Strong legs moved over him, straddling his hips to gain better access to the wound. Once kissed there he pointed to a bruise on his neck. Lips feeling like a soothing balm as tongue slipped out to take a taste. He gasped, leaning into the touch wanting more. His hand came up, twining with red fabric as his neck was licked and nibbled down to the dip of his collar bone and up onto the other side.

“Raph,” he whimpered when hips were ground down against his own.

“Mikey,” Raphael pulled back, his strong hands ghosting over injuries. “I'm sorry I... I couldn't stop them.”

“I-it's okay,” god just keep kissing. “I'm okay now.”

“But...” dark eyes looked to the side sadly, closing tightly. “The pain you're in... I should have found you sooner, I should have...”

Michelangelo reached up, his hand cupping jaw and cheek, “I'm getting better, Raphie.”

“I couldn't help you... but,” Raph moved down off of his hips to lay between his legs. His eyes sincere in the fire light, “But I can help you now, with the pain at least. I can take it away for a while.”

“How do you-” he was cut off with a gasp as he was practically floored by the sudden sensation of being grabbed. His toes curled as Raphael's hand pulled his sex out of hiding, stroking, petting until he was completely hard.

Those wonderful fingers squeezed causing him to buck up. Raph pulled up as his hand continued to administer the shocks of pleasure that tingled through out Mikey's body. Dark eyes were so concerned as he made his rhythm into a maddening slow pump. “Tell me if it starts to hurt,” he whispered brushing his lips against Michelangelo's cheek as he spoke.

One of the cuts on his arm, that snaked downed the back of his elbow, started to prickle when he leaned up to lap at the mouth that greedily took him in to a kiss. He whimpered, letting his body move with his brother who loomed over him. Hugging his legs around Raphael's waist, his body continued to build that coiling pressure in his belly. Nerve endings sang every time Raph's hips rolled forward instinctively as he tried to control himself.

“Raph,” Mikey wrapped his arms around his brother's shoulders. This felt so good, he didn't want it to stop, “Raphie, m-more.”

Mikey woke to the sounds of heavy boots falling into step on the wooden floor. Blue eyes snapped open as he was pulled from the dream that his body desperately wanted to finish; he made no noise as he watched the Nightwatcher carefully step around him to get more wood for the fire that was starting to die away into glowing embers. How long had he been asleep? And did the... He swallowed lightly; hopefully he didn't make any noise while dreaming. That would be so embarrassing. 

A content sound close to a purr escaped through his throat as the new log lit on fire and began to fill the room with the heat he had fallen asleep too. Michelangelo didn't want to move, not in the slightest, for more than one reason. He was content as to where he was at the moment and wanted nothing more than to fall back to sleep and finish that dream his mind had started. But he was certain that he would die of embarrassment if he had a wet dream right in front of the Nightwatcher, he had to stay awake despite how much his body wanted to go back to sleep. Rubbing at his tired eyes he felt the blanket being tugged up and tucked around him. This softness, it reminded him of the care Splinter would give him when he was young and sick with the flu. A yawn split his mouth apart, the gentle glow of the fire playing with its own reflection across the gleaming metal of the Nightwatcher's armor.

The way Nightwatcher knelt at the fire, how his body moved as he shifted the coals around; it all reminded him of someone. Damn it, if he wasn't so tired and his brain was completely focused on Raph at the moment then he might be able to figure out who. Unfortunately it was hard to keep his eyes open, he wanted to dream once again. But here, it was okay here with the blanket that smelled like home and his hero that was taking care of him.

He smiled a little, his voice sounding rough like he had swallowed some sandpaper, “You know,” he coughed thickly. The Nightwatcher turning to him at the sound of his waking voice. Michelangelo tried to clear his throat some how managing to sound worse, “You know, my brothers thought I was insane for picking a vigilante for a hero. They said I was wrong.”

Nightwatcher shifted, showing that the turtle had his attention.

Blue eyes peered up to the hero as he stated very simply, “I wasn't.”

Armored shoulders relaxed slightly, gloved hands reaching over to readjust the blanket that had exposed shell and neck when Mikey had coughed. His shell was rubbed, a gentle pat followed. Michelangelo's mind yelled out that he knew that particular rub, that the person the pat belonged to was someone close to him but it was a brief shout. His need to rest more great than figuring out the mystery of the Nightwatcher's identity and worrying about bodily reactions to a certain attraction of his.

He rubbed at his eyes, the crackle of the fire loud in the silent mask of winter; serving as a lullaby that pulled him into slumber.

Once he was asleep once more, Raphael allowed himself a smile with in his helmet. His brother's words were simple and it made him feel a little special. To be the hero his sibling was hard to do. While growing up Leonardo had always been Michelangelo's hero. He had always been the one to save the day, always the one that the youngest ran to. And even though he had to keep this secret of who he was and why he was doing this it still meant the world to him just to know. Even in the slightest bit that his actions were appreciated.

And then he remembered the sounds Mikey was making when he got back. The blush on his face as he rolled in his sleep, mouth slightly parted as he panted and meekly whimpered his name. He couldn't have been dreaming of... No, Mikey wasn't that way. He liked girls and... but last night he was pretty desperate to be touched. Raph shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. Mikey wasn't in his right mind then, there was no way he could have wanted to be with Raph like that.


	7. Chapter 7

His fingers were shaking, he didn't understand why. He had already gotten used to the dull thrum of pain that shot through his side every time he moved and the odd pressure that started to form after he managed to sleep for an hour. He needed to clean the make-shift bandage he had over his wound and clean the stubborn hole in his side.

Raphael paused in tampering with the only set of communication they had. He needed to take a break. It wasn't like he truly understood the complex wiring. He knew a few things but, mostly only to be accurate enough to fix his bike. All of this was Donatello's territory, not his. And with all of his bad luck recently his shell cell went missing after that unforeseen dunk in the pound and Mikey's was taken from him when he...

A deep sigh shuddered in his chest as pain rippled up from his side. Image of seeing his little brother tied up on a rickety chair, body so week it was hard for him to do much than focus on his breathing to make sure he was still alive. 

_“I was so scared I'd never see you again.”_

He put his hand over his eyes, rubbing at the sting that stabbed away at him. He still couldn't forgive himself for letting Mikey get caught in the first place, then he took advantage of him. It wasn't like he could have prevented the kidnapping, the orange masked turtle was by himself out to get diner. It was a time when no one expected it, it was such a perfect time for the enemy to strike and he hated himself for not being able to foresee it. But he could have restrained himself and not do what Michelangelo's fevered mind was asking for.

Raphael was pulled from his thoughts, attention drawn to the turtle that shivered under the blanket a thick cough beating like a drum. 

Abandoning the CB radio built into his helmet he focused his attention to his brother. The least he could do was keep him as comfortable as possible for the time being. He encouraged Michelangelo to roll onto his belly then to his other side so that his shell could warm evenly with his chest. Mikey's hands curled into loose fists his lips murmuring out the name of his red banded brother. 

“Get a hold of yourself,” he sighed once more. It was almost about time to apply the last of the ointment. Once Mikey ate he would go and set about cleaning the wounds. The wounds that shouldn't have ever been there.

This wasn't a time for self pity. He needed to contact home, if he couldn't... then it was going to be a long walk... a very long walk. If that happened, he might have to leave Mikey alone so that he wouldn't have to be subjected to the harsh elements. He would have to make sure to get more wood and dry it out next to the fire, also not to leave until Mikey was well enough to stay awake for longer than just a few minutes and that cough of his started to subside. 

No, god, that would take too long.

Dark eyes turned from brother to the flickering flame that was supporting their lives. He didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to fix this situation he had caused because he couldn't think past; keep Mikey safe? For the first time in his life he wished Leo was there to tell him what to do.

Then an idea struck him. What if he just dressed his brother in his costume. Sure it wasn't the warmest but it did protect the skin and he wouldn't get colder. He could just carry Mikey home. The walk usually would take up to two days, but that was when he rested. If he didn't sleep, and maybe lucked out and find an abandoned car on the side of the road them maybe, just maybe they would stand a decent chance. But... Michelangelo would find out he was the Nightwatcher...

Raphael growled at himself. This wasn't a time for secret identities. Mikey would find out sooner or later; he'll just have to make sure that his brother understood that this was the last time Nightwatcher ever surfaced so he better keep his mouth shut. No bragging to anyone.

Now he had a plan, but when would he set it into motion?

Reaching into the fireplace, he rotated the two sticks that lanced large chunks of meat. He readjusted the rocks that propped them up -that he had dug out of winter's breast of snow. The slight sizzle of the uncooked side only seemed to serve as a reminder of how much Mikey needed to eat. The likely hood of the Purple Dragons actually taking care of one of their most hated enemies -to prolong their life for more torture- was slim. He would need to get Michelangelo to drink something again soon as well.

Okay, so if he was going to go and dress Mikey up in his outfit he better take it off.

Carefully he pulled the leather, cloth, and metal off. Soon as the last of it was shed, he found himself too tired to do much else than lay down on his side. His body starting to tremor as the injury on his side yelled at him to put his weight somewhere else. His eyes began to slowly close, eyes on the flickering light of the fire.

Pain was so tiring. It ate away slowly until there was no energy left. He reached up and forward, finding some of his brother's fingers to take hold of. Even though he couldn't say it, his pride preventing him from apologizing, he still held onto that hand as if that alone could tell all he wanted to say.

Then he closed his eyes to sleep when he couldn't find the energy to sit up.

The next thing he knew was the sensation of something pleasing running up his neck. It pulled at his attention until he was brought out of sleep, slowly blinking wondering what felt so nice. The smell of Michelangelo's skin registered when a muscled shoulder ghosted over his beak as his little brother continued to lay kisses on his neck. He gasped when nipped, only to have a slick tongue sooth over the small area.

“Raphie,” Mikey's voice whispered against his skin. “You awake?”

He was half tempted to say nothing at all, only bask in the feelings that were starting to stir inside him, “Kind of.” He was still tired, very tried.

“I had another nightmare...”

Raphael placed his hand on his brother's face, caressing a cheek, “It was only a dream.”

The sea-green turtle pulled back enough to look his brother in the eyes, a silent plea in them, “It was really scary...” A tear rolled down his cheek as he leaned into the touch, his voice a whisper, “So scary...”

“Mikey, it was only a nightmare,” Raph propped himself up onto an elbow, ignoring the slight pain in his side.

Suddenly lips were over his own, tongue slipping against him in as a whimper came from his younger brother. His mouth opened on its own allowing to be dominated in a kiss.

He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be allowing Mikey to do this. He had already took advantage of him once. Moving his hand from cheek to shoulder he tried to push only to have his body pull. 

Michelangelo gleefully went with the flow and slid a knee between his brothers at the confused prompting he received. Gently, so that Raphael could push him away at any moment, he rolled his sibling onto his carapace. He slid between well muscled legs perfectly as he finally broke the kiss that left them both panting.

“God,” red let his eyes open only half way. “What-” he gasped for air when Mikey rolled his hips. “What kind of nightmare did you have?”

“One I want to forget,” the youngest took a deep breath of Raph's scent. “One where I have to make sure you're here with me, where I can touch you and know you're okay.”

Finally clearing some of the haze that was caused by Michelangelo's administrations, Raph pushed his brother by his shoulders to get some distance. He frowned deeply with concern, “Mikey.” The tone of his voice a warning. He didn't like beating around the bush.

Blue eyes became crystalline as large tears fell, shattering like fragile glass on the turtle below him. “I...” his breathing became erratic. He couldn't say it. If he said it then perhaps he would wake up and his brother wouldn't be there. If he said it then it could come true, or so his confused heart hammered. “I just need to know,” he was shaking now, voice barely contained. “that you're... alive.”

Fingers moved from his shoulders to the back of his head, holding him gently. His brow pressed against Raphael's as his brother whispered in his strong voice that kept him safe every time he heard it, “It's okay Mikey, I'm right here.”

“I know,” he closed his eyes tightly pushing into the light touch of their foreheads. “I just... I just need to...”

What came next would skip the beat of the heart of even the coldest of hearts. The feather soft breath, how sweet and beckoning the sound was of, “Go ahead and do what'cha need Mikey. I'm right here.”

Then they were kissing once more, Michelangelo's hands running over thighs as he rolled his hips forward encouraging the shocks of pleasure that created a rumble from Raphael. God that sounded so wonderful to him.

“Raph,” he murmured breaking the kiss only to nip at neck and collar bone. “Make that sound again, please.” His nimble fingers finding their way with in shell encouraging his older brother's sex out into the open. He was pleased that this caused a deeper sound almost like a chirping drum. It was so odd to hear but it triggered something in the back of his mind something that made him drop down before the sound could tapper off.

Sucking on an emerald green adam's apple, Mikey pushed his swollen member against the one under him. That sound was created once more along with a wheezed call of his name. He pushed forward once more, gathering himself and his brother in one hand and squeezing them together in a tight grip. Raphael's head feel back, hands gripping at his shoulders as he bucked up.

“You like that huh?” It wasn't much of a question but either way the fiery turtle nodded. If it felt this good to be on the bottom he won't mind doing it again.

He began to pump, his grip having a difficult time with both of them together. Moving his free hand to take hold of Raphael's wrist he leaned down, never stopping in his thrusts against the one he needed to make sure was live and well. His teeth and lips danced across throat that vibrated with every churr. 

“Raphie,” he felt his fellow ninja quiver under him. His hand slip into the other's, fingers lacing together. “Raphie, I need,” he grunted when he gave a particularly hard thrust earning a growl from the one he was talking to. “I need you to... help.”

He guided the hand he was holding down to where there joined together in his palm that was giving frantic pumps. Unlacing his fingers he pressed Raphael's palm against their weeping cocks. He guided him to match his pumps and how much pressure to apply.

“God, like that, yes,” he praised as the coil of pleasure inside started to wind tighter. Taking his now free hand, he placed it on the floor and leaned his weight against it to let his hips go faster to match the rhythm of his brother's bucking.

Sweat rolled down his brow, splashing down to mingle with the perspiration of Raphael's that pooled in the small creases on his neck. Coming nearer, he dipped down taking the panting mouth below into a searing hot kiss as he finally reached the climax and orgasmed along with his brother.

Tired, panting, he reluctantly let go of both his and Raph's sexes and collapsed next to the one who was greedily taking in air as much as himself. Once he could breath, and the sweat on his body began to chill, he reached over and pulled Raphael to him, pressing their plastrons together. Raph was already asleep, looking tired even in his slumber.

Mikey smiled a little nuzzling his beak against his brothers taking in the deep musky scent of sex that mingled with the smell that was purely just the two of them.

“I love you Raph,” he whispered as if afraid to wake his brother. He tucked his head against Raphael's neck wrapping his arms tightly against his brother as he remembered his dream. His brother collapsing in the snow only to be buried by white flakes. He held him tighter and whimpered out a choked cry, “I love you...”


	8. Chapter 8

Not once but twice; twice he had bedded his brother. He had allowed their flesh to mingle, their minds to twine in a forbidden dance that should never had been. Because he had slept he had burnt their food, forcing him to start to cook all over again. And as the meat sizzled he couldn't help but run his eyes over his sibling that had been on top of him only hours ago. That beautiful skin shining with sweat as their sexes were pressed together trying to reach a new high like two desperate addicts.

He swallowed hard and turned his face away. He couldn't let it happen again, not again. If he had a third taste then he would not be able to stop himself from having a fourth. He would want to press shell against mattress and sheets, slip his body between tight thighs and explore the body of his brother in a way he should never even think about. But even if he didn't want to participate in the taboo of life he wanted his brother to make it to the next day, and the day after that, until they were all old and frail with age. That meant getting help.

Unfortunately the radio was a bust. The water damage it had received had fried so many circuits that even if he had to splice the wires to get it to work there was no hope for the central board to gain any sort of life. They were stuck, unless he packed Michelangelo onto his back and began to walk.

He had already fed his little brother what little venison he had cooking, his sibling enjoying being awake for a few minutes only to nod off now that he had something warm in his stomach. But not after pressing his lips to his brother who didn't have the heart to turn away. He held Mikey as their tongues mingled, that flavor of the deer mixed with the taste of his brother making him want to continue and drink. He had pressed his brother down onto the floor, their bodies pressing together until a jolt of pain stabbed into him from his side forcing him to pull back and allow his brother to slip back into slumber while using his lap as a pillow.

He was at a loss as to what to do. His own emotions mucking everything up to the point it was hard to think past primal needs. He waited, thinking while stroking his hand over his lover's head. Honestly, he didn't think he had the right to say when things should begin or end, in fact he didn't even know if there was anything there besides Michelangelo's need to be reminded that he was safe and alive. With a deep breath he decided what to do. He would take Mikey home, and when he got better he would approach him. If it was all just for him to be reassured then he would drop it. There would be no need to hold a relationship, but... but if he really meant it... If he really wanted Raphael, then... then maybe they could figure something out- together.

Satisfied with that plan of action, Raphael had gone outside and carved off more meat from the kill he had committed earlier that day. He would have to cook a decent amount if he was going to make this trip with as few stops as possible, that is- if they ever wanted to get home.. Logically, he would have to eat at least a few ounces every hour in order to have enough energy to not fall asleep in the snow drifts. That was only him though, he had to make sure that Mikey ate as well. That meant more of course; by his calculations he would have to carry at least five pounds of meat. He figured eleven pounds would be better since he did not like the idea of suddenly coming up short for whatever reason. He knew he didn’t have to worry about the rest of the deer going to waste, the forest would quickly reclaim the carcass with in the next few days. Already there had been a leg chewed off by wild life.

He wanted them to have one more meal before he would set them out on their journey. A few more hours of sleep would not deal any damage either.

Rubbing at his face he tried not to nod off to the winter hours. Soon as he was done cooking, he would sleep, then soon as he woke they would eat and be off.

\-------------------

When Michelangelo woke up he snuggled up against a strong chest from his memories. He had always found comfort with the barrel chested brother with a red bandana. Raphael was strong, and when he wanted to be he could be gentle as well. When nightmares came he usually went to his hot tempered brother in blind faith that he would chase away all the monsters that were after him. After all, no one could hurt Raph. He was practically invincible. At least that was what a small child of the age of five believed. Yet something always lingered; the thought that nothing could happen to the brother that had a cocky smile and an annoying laugh. It was that thought that lead him to always feeling safe with that particular brother.

Blue eyes slowly fluttered open as he pressed a cheek against green skin of a shoulder. He placed a kiss to shoulder and neck, giving a lick as the one next to him began to stir. This was odd, Raphael's skin was cold. A frown started to form on his lips, his brows knitting together in confusion as he clung onto his brother as if he was a teddy bear. 

Before he could think over it more thoroughly, a hand was placed to the back of his shoulder nudging him to let go so that the older turtle could sit up. Taking a moment, he slowly released his sibling. It wasn’t often he got to have physical contact with them other than training inside the dojo or on the battle field. He liked to have the small, positive, physical brushes of being pushed on the shoulder or the very rare hug. Though, he would never admit it.

“You ready to eat something?”

Michelangelo sat up, looking over to his brother who rubbed sleep out of his eyes. He still didn’t know if this was a dream or if the Nightwatcher was a dream. His mind was still fogged with the need to lay down and repair itself in the state of slumber. Almost everything seemed like a dream to him, the cold touch of Raphael’s skin as his brother held onto him while he was presented with a chunk of meat, the way the meat tasted- different from what he was used to, and how he could barely keep himself from slouching into his brother’s arms. But if he had to choose which would be the dream and which would be real, then he wanted this to be real, his time with Raphael. The passion that he shared with him, he didn't want that to be fake. He wanted to feel his brother pressed against him, lips caressing and hands ignited so many sensations that drove his mind to a blissful euphoria. 

“Okay Mikey.”

He blinked swallowing the last of his meal, a hand coming up to wipe away the slickness left from the juices of the meat from his lips and chin. Raphael’s thumb and palm cleaning his face as best as he could. Michelangelo lapped at the palm that helped him, tongue tracing lines, caressing curves. It was disturbing, even Raphael's palm was chilled. He didn't like that.

The older of the two cleared his throat, “You ready to go home?”

That question didn’t make sense to him. If Raphael was here, then wasn’t he home? He didn’t know, he was too tired but he wanted to feel. He wanted to make sure this was real and not the dream.

He was suddenly pulled to his feet, a wave of dizziness from the abrupt action taking away his ability to stand up straight on his own. His hands gripped his sibling as he was held onto to keep his balance. Taking in several breaths he watched the floor swirl around before closing his eyes concentrating on banishing the feeling to vomit what he had just eaten.

“I’m gonna have to have ya put somethin’ on okay?”

Nodding, he tried to help his brother dress him in something that was tight and warm. It was heavy as well. Soon as the front was zipped and buckled he couldn’t stand on his own any more, the weight on his back causing him to fall to the ground, barely caught by his brother before his head could crack against the wooden floor. His arms were pulled so that he was sitting up straight.

“Just stay there okay? I need to grab somethin’.”

Michelangelo shook his head trying to clear it of the need to fall back onto his shell and watch the world spin above him. He could hear rustling of paper, looking over, he observed Raphael folding meat in some old news papers and what looked like thin twine that was so frayed that it could brake at any given moment. The newly made package was then fixed to Raphael’s belt, pulling it down to reveal a patch of red cloth that was pressed against his side.

Looking up to his brother’s face he frowned. Why had he not noticed that his brother did not have his mask on? God, he needed to clear his head. He needed to be able to stay awake longer than the short moments he had been able to muster out. He needed to move, wake himself up.

Trying to get up, he proceeded to fall once more, this time not caught. His head throbbed from smacking onto the floor. A soothing palm suddenly over the place that hurt.

“I told ya to stay put.”

“Sorry,” he grunted when he was hefted up.

“Come on, bro, let’s get ya home,” Raphael smiled a little as he swung an arm over his shoulders. He hesitated for a moment before sealing his lips over Michelangelo's letting the kiss flutter his heart beat before they would venture out into the world of white.

\----------------------------------

Michelangelo had fallen asleep half way out of the forest. He had tried to walk on his own only to have to lean on Raphael, soon enough he couldn’t walk at all. When that happened, Raphael placed the Nightwatcher helmet onto his brother’s head, before saddling the ninja onto his back.

It seemed to take forever to reach the main road that fed a line across the country side from the main city. The old tattered blanket and the large chunk of upholstery that he covered his brother’s shoulders with rubbed against his shoulders and sides, chafing the skin just enough to be annoying as he walked in the world that held a stifling silence that only winter could bring. Large flakes flecking across his beak as he moved forward. All he had to do now, was concentrate on making sure he could get to the nearest phone. Unfortunately the nearest house that he could possibly break into was across a lake and walking around it would be as effective as reaching the outskirts of New York City. And unless someone decided to stop and not freak out that there are two large turtles walking in the snow then he had a very long walk ahead of him.

Luckily it wasn’t below freezing… yet.


	9. Chapter 9

The flakes were large and soft. The many frozen droplets of artistic perfection came into his eyes in drifting sheets preventing him from seeing anything farther than a few feat directly in front of him. The winter storm blocked out so much with its white flurries that he couldn't tell if he was heading the right way or some how managed to get turned around. The only consolation he had was that he had yet to twist or turn in his steps. His toes groped and felt around with each step as to make sure there were no patches of ice he could possibly slip upon or unforgiving obstacles in his way. If he managed to wonder into a field and stepped on some barbed wire... Dumb, easily avoidable, injuries such as that, he couldn't risk taking. Sure he would not let the pain stall him in his quest to bring his brother home safely, but he really did not want to have his foot amputated due to frost bite or gangrene. Speaking of which...

He felt around for a second with his feet before lowering his brother off of his back onto the ground. His feet were already numb and from the span of time he had been outside he estimated that he was only six miles from the shack and his feet have been numb for the past mile. 

Careful not to wake Michelangelo, Raphael pulled the boots off of his sibling. Taking a seat next to the turtle covered in bandages, he curled forward to slip one boot over his own needy appendage. There was a shock of pain, horrible and hissing like a spiked ball of pressure. Gripping his side he felt something press out into the cloth against his wound. His breathing was labored as he held tight to the area that felt like liquid flames. Something stirred inside his stomach forcing him to twist and spill out the content of what he had consumed earlier. As he did he could feel the pressure in his side lighten a fraction. Breathing hard and with a confused mind, he straightened himself out enough to pull back the patch of red fabric. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing it back into place. Mumbled curses pushed through his clenched teeth as he felt a mixture of desperation and despair. With one more loud curse he turned his attention back to putting on the boots. His feet were red and starting to turn an odd purple around the edges. If he could warm them up in time then he wouldn't have to worry about loosing limbs. His movements turned slow when the second boot was finished being placed over his other foot. Loosing limbs though... it wasn't like he would be able to worry about it much longer.

Getting up to his knees he set about placing Michelangelo back onto his shell once more. No matter what, he had to get Mikey home.

Pushing himself up onto his feet he ventured forward.

Several hours later he had to take a stop, his skin so cold that the surrounding world seemed warm. Sweat started to trickle down his brow to fall off of his chin as he panted. He sat next to his brother who was coated in blankest and leather. He reached for the pouch of venison on his belt and paused. His heart sank as he let his hand fall away, there really was no point in eating any of that now. He could just run himself into the ground with out any regrets, that is, as long as Mikey got home. He smiled a little to himself as he laid down next to his sibling letting the snow cushion and cool his inflamed side.

"You know Mikey, havin' you around was fun," he reached over and placed a hand to the shoulder covered in a metal guard. "You could drive me around the bend as quickly as you could make me laugh." He closed his eyes, "I appreciate that." His softly shut lids quickly tightened as he snaked a hand into the snow to hold the sudden throb from the wound being wet. The feverish skin around it protesting to having anything against or near it even as delicate as snow. A hiss escaped his gnashing teeth, followed by a thick swallow. Sitting back up he was relieved that the pain had started to lessen, even if it was only for the slightest.

Dark eyes turned up to the sky. The world of white was now gray from the night sky that was painted a luminescent fiery glow from the city's lights. He could see it in the horizon, he had at least another six hours to walk. Already he had to alternate the boots from his feet to Michelangelo's several times. Twice he was able to wake his brother enough to feed him some food only to have his sibling nearly pass out on him.

Raphael flopped back down onto his carapace, eyes slowly blinking at the now gentle snow that was sparse and beautiful. He slowly blinked trying to fight back the dry feeling in his eyes from the lack of sleep. He closed them for a few seconds letting them rest before struggling back up, pulling his brother back onto him. It was time to run himself down to the ground. After all, six hours wasn't all that long... was it?

\------------------

When Michelangelo woke up it was because he was suddenly falling. His chin clanked against something hard erecting a groan from him when everything was suddenly halted. He rolled off of whatever he had fallen onto. Getting himself up into a sitting position he felt the odd sensation of his head wrapped in something warm and unfamiliar. Reaching up, he padded his cheeks finding instead of flesh, metal and his vision was dimmed by a visor.

Pulling the helmet off he felt the cold rush of fresh air prickle at his skin, waking his mind from the fog of sleep. He took in the fact that he was now holding Nightwatcher's helmet, the suit of his hero kept him warm from the freezing night. A frown formed his lips as he tried to understand if Raphael was the dream or the Nightwatcher, was he still dreaming?

Whatever he had landed on moved beside him, snapping his attention to it he felt his mind grind to a halt. Raphael... Raphael was in the snow, trying hard to get up only to fall back down. His skin was slick with sweat even though it was very cold.

It all made sense now, why the Nightwatcher would take care of him, why there was both his hero and his brother there when he would wake. Even his disappearance two years ago when Leonardo came home, Nightwatcher was Raph. And if that was true then... then Raph really wasn't smart enough to take care of his own wounds! He would give everything and save nothing for himself.

"Raph!" Michelangelo dropped the helmet in the snow, twisting around to grab hold of his brother's shell. He pulled hard, rolling his brother over onto his lap, the heat of a fever was felt even through the leather and cloth that protected him. This wasn't good.

He lightly slapped his sibling's cheek, "Come on Raphie, open your eyes. Come on."

No this was not happening!

Raphael tried, but his eyes only could open a little before drifting shut, his body becoming more lax by the second. The smaller of the two could feel his heart beat begin to hammer as he remembered the odd patch of red fabric that was under his brother's belt. Gently probing with his fingers, he found the lump of cloth, ridged around the edges with the beginnings of frost. Carefully pealing it back he winced, hissing out his displeasure as to what he saw. Stuck around the edges, partly dry, was the yellow and white sickly colors of infection.

"Okay Raph," he breathed deeply moving his brother back onto the ground. "I know you can be dumb, but god! Give me a break!" He shouted now panicking. If the infection was this bad... He shook his head while he worked on the knot on his brother's belt. Quickly removing it he began to gently take the wadded up bandana from the wound, "Seriously Raph, who wants a dead big brother? No one! Or at least not me, you got that?!"

His reply was a hiss from the turtle he was working on.

With all the obstacles out of the way, he pressed his fingers around the edges of the wound feeling the hard lump of built up pus. This kind of gross stuff was Donnie and Splinter territory. He wasn't sure he'd have the stomach to do this with out throwing up, but he had to and if he had to vomit he would make sure to do it after taking care of the brother who had saved his life.

"This is gonna hurt bro... a lot."

Blue eyes gazed at the face of his brother, brows knitted and worried. Turning back to the wound he took a deep breath before pressing down and squeezing. He could feel the pressure of the infection inside release as it spilled out of the body it was trying to kill. He would have possibly thrown up at that moment if it was not for the fact that Raphael was screaming from the pain. The deep guttural shout was hurting his ears as he continued to force every last bit out of his brother who now had a painfully hard grip on his shoulder. That was the bad thing about infections, they poison from the inside out making all the tissues it touches extra sensitive and inflamed.

He grabbed a fist full of snow and proceeded to scrub away what he could. Finally, taking off the gloves over his hands he pushed up his sleeves to unwind some bandages. With a harsh tug he ripped the gauze and folded it up, placing it over the wound and then tying Raphael's belt back into place. Once that was done, he gave his surroundings a thorough look. There was nothing but darkness behind him, an empty void of white hills and shifting drifts upon the black river of cement that made the road. Up front were fields and the tainted glow of the city lights in the clouds. There was a sharp bend that they were behind, so he did not know how close they were to civilization. Though it did not matter, the lights was were he needed to head.

"Come on bro," he grunted scrambling off of the blanket and the upholstery fabric he had been kneeling upon. He tightly wrapped Raphael's feet and legs with the fabric, and wound the blanket around the rest of his body effectively cocooning him away from the world that threatened to snuff out his life. With as much grace as he could, he slipped his arms under knees and shoulders and lifted his brother up to his chest, picking him up off of the ground.

He swallowed hard, fighting off the aches in his lacerations that pulled. Quickly, he began to walk towards the lights in the sky, around the bend in the road. All they had to do was get to a phone, any phone.

"Hang in there Raphie."

\-----------------------------

Leonardo was taking his fourth dose of stomach medicine for that hour. Ever since Mikey had disappeared he had been worried, then Raphael disappeared along with his Nightwatcher uniform and both had yet to come home. They were able to pick up the trail of the Nightwatcher putting a large segment of the Purple Dragons out of commission. From there they lost track of him. Now it was just him and Donnie spending countless hours patrolling the city block by block. They were running out of city and sewers to look, they even went down to the underground only to come back empty handed. If they could not find their brothers soon he was pretty sure by the end of the day he would have a bleeding ulcer.

Suddenly the phone rang. He sighed and swallowed the pink liquid before dragging his feet over. It was probably Casey calling for the umpteenth time to see if they had gained any leads to the whereabouts of his best friend.

Sighing he picked up the receiver and placed it to his ear, "No Casey we haven't found them yet."

Not waiting for an answer he hung up.

The phone immediately rang once again. Picking it back up Leonardo felt his eye twitch, he was not in the mood for Casey or April to give him another talk about how he shouldn't give up, because he wasn't giving up! He needed time to think of a strategy.

"Look! How can I find them if you-"

"If you won't listen to who's on the other line!!"

"M-Mikey?! Mikey!" The leader gripped the phone as if it was his little brother, "Where the shell are you? You're reception is horrible." 

"Somewhere in the boondocks near the Westside. I found an abandoned car with a cell phone still in it," he tried to laugh but it sounded very strained, "You guys gotta hurry, Raph's not looking so good..."

"We'll be right there, but you gotta tell me where're your at."

"I think the main freeway west."

"Can't you tell me-"

"I can't! I don't know where the shell I am besides there's a big freaking road and we're to the west of the freaking city! I would have asked Raph but he's already puked outside of the car and the fever is getting worse!!"

Leonardo closed his eyes allowing himself to feel the distress coming from his baby brother. He took a calming breath, "We'll be there soon."

Hanging up the phone, he ran over to Donatello's room nearly ramming into the terrapin that was coming out, "Mikey just called, he's with Raph on the west highway. We gotta hurry, Raph's in bad shape."

\---------------------------

Michelangelo rubbed his hand over his brother's shell, holding back the blanket as bile spilled out onto the cold ground. He was hanging outside of the car door as the rest of his body laid over the front seats. Mikey stood outside of the vehicle, soothing his ill brother. It had been twenty minutes since he had called and with each minute Raphael's color was draining from him. He looked so sickly now, nearly a pastel green.

"Just hold on bro, just a little longer," he sniffled trying to fight back the stinging feeling in his eyes. "Leo and Donnie will be here and they'll yell at us and then spoil us rotten until we get better," he forced a smile running his ungloved palm over the clammy skin of his brother's head. Raphael's fever had left a few hours ago only to be replaced with a cold that he didn't know how to fight. He was almost as cold as the snow he was standing upon and that set a deep worry inside him.

A car soon approached, and he set out to wave whoever it was down. If he had to he would mug the hell out of these people.

"Mikey?"

"Don?" he held up his hand over his face, shielding his eyes from the bright headlights.

Quickly, he went back to Raphael's side, grabbing an arm and wrapping it over his shoulders. With a heave he pulled his brother out of the car, grateful when Donatello suddenly appeared on their brother's other side. Dragging his dead weight, the two managed to load the large ninja up into the back of their van. Soon as the doors were shut, Leonardo turned the vehicle around and began heading home.

As the bed of the van softly bumped along the road, Donatello set about inspecting Raphael's injuries. His face was grim as he took in the low temperature, the amount of infection that had built up and how deep the wound was.

"I tried to squeeze most of it out, but that was hours ago," Michelangelo had a hold of Raphael's shoulders, knelt above his head letting the turtle use his lap as a pillow.

"It's a good thing you did," Donatello dug into his bag finding a bottle of disinfectant. "If you hadn't then it would have been more humane to put him out of his misery."

"Then-"

"It means he'll be okay, Mikey. He'll need treatment for a while and lots of rest but he'll be okay."

\----------------------

eleven days later

\----------------------

"You can leave him out of your sights for longer than ten minutes," Leonardo nudged Michelangelo.

The youngest blushed a little embarrassed, "Yeah... it's just that..."

Leo smiled softly, "It's just that you need to tell him something." With a soft push, he encouraged the orange masked turtle to venture into the vacant living room save for one occupant.

Fidgeting, he padded over to the back of the couch. He didn't know how to approach this. It had been scary to see Raph laid up in bed for several days. At least it was not nearly as frightening as carting him through the wilderness, or waking up to find him passed out in snow.

"Um... Raph?"

"What?" he grunted with a hand over his side that still throbbed but to a much lesser degree.

Hesitating for a moment, Michelangelo finally bent over wrapping his arms around his brother's shoulders. He squeezed tightly, pressing his cheek against Raphael's as he held fast. 

"Thanks bro... for everything," he squeezed just a little bit tighter. "You really are my hero."

Raphael closed his eyes and leaned into his brother’s embrace, “You’re mine too kid… You’re mine too.”

END


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